Gemotions

He watched the team celebrate the victory from the bleachers, the cheers echoing in his ears. The feeling was a tight clench in his gut, a cold fist. It was a familiar ache, a bitter taste that bloomed on his tongue.

The star player, Mark, had scored the winning goal, and the coach was clapping him on the back. He kicked at a loose water bottle, sending it skittering across the floor.

"Good game, huh?" his friend asked, clapping him on the shoulder. He mumbled a noncommittal response, his eyes fixed on the easy grin plastered across Mark's face. The way Mark took it all in, the way everyone always looked at him.

He couldn't meet his friend's eye. He just stared at his own feet, scuffing at the floorboards, trying to avoid the post-game hugs.